The Power of Thunder
by SheWasFlying
Summary: When a slightly irate England is on the verge of having a good time chasing his colony around the garden in the rain, a clap of thunder easily accomplishes what he's been trying to do since they got home. It doesn't quite ruin the good time, though, even centuries later. Oneshot. Short, quick read. Rated T because I'm paranoid.


Disclaimer: SheWasFlying does not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. There. I said it. Happy? Gosh.

A/N: Why am I writing this? I've got loads of other stories to work on, and here I am, writing a oneshot. At 3 in the morning. Wow. Dumb.

Guess I just wanted to try my hand at BigBrother!England and Chibi!America. I've read so many adorable fics about them already, and seen some of the cutest art (seriously, more than half of them have rotted my teeth away with their sweetness) and I guess I just couldn't resist.

. . . it's kind of a pointless story, though. I don't even know if it qualifies as fluff. Let me know?

. . . I really need to start writing stories when I'm awake enough to think straight.

* * *

**The Power of Thunder**

"America, get over here right _now!_"

"Nah!"

England bristled. His tiny colony grinned at him from the base of a towering oak and made off with a high pitched giggle, little brown boots _swish swish swishing_ through the wet grass. Gritting his teeth, England followed at a swift walk. He was _not_ going to run after a disobedient little boy _in the bloody rain_ as the little boy so desired.

As America ducked behind a rose bush, England squinted his eyes and spared an irritated look at the black clouds above. The storm had moved in from the north, a slow beast that had caught England and America as they traveled back to the colony's home from town. It wasn't a proper rain quite yet, just a gentle mist that fell from some rather threatening clouds.

England didn't trust it to remain as such.

He had planned on waiting out the storm in front of a crackling fire in the sitting room, sipping hot tea, America drinking warm milk and eating biscuits by his side, both resting beneath a cozy blanket.

America, on the other hand, seemed quite content to remain outside during the storm. As soon as their carriage had stopped, the little colony had climbed out, dropped his basket of cheese and freshly baked bread, and bolted into the garden, little arms raised above his head.

"America!"

"Nah!"

"America, come here _right now!_" England watched his colony crawl out from behind the rose bush, dirt and grass stains all over his brand new coat, and dive behind a bird bath. He could see half of the boy sticking out on one side of the base. "This rain will get much worse, very soon! You know that! We need to go inside!"

Just as England closed in on the bird bath, America scrambled to his feet and ran for the stone bench by the terrace, giggling and looking over his shoulder at the scowling empire.

England sighed and stopped where he stood. He crossed his arms, one bushy eyebrow raised at the blond head poking out from beneath the bench half way across the garden. "Very well then, America. Have it your way."

He turned away and headed for the back door of America's house. The carriage driver was there, one arm shielding America's basket. England took the basket and dismissed the driver, opened the door and placed the basket on the floor inside. Slowly, he peered over his shoulder.

America was by the bird bath, as unperturbed by the rain as ever, blinking doleful eyes at England.

England stepped inside and began to pull off his coat, careful to keep his eyes averted from America's. "Stay outside in the rain. By yourself. If you so wish."

America inched closer. "But, but England!"

One of America's maids arrived to take his coat. He handed it to her, along with the basket, taking his time. "Have fun, America."

"I want you to _play_ with me! Please, England! Please?"

England looked down his nose at the colony, who inched closer still. ". . . _nah._"

America blinked and scowled at his own word being used against him. He stomped a tiny foot in the mud. "But _England-!_"

The British Empire attacked.

With a squeal, America whipped around and made a run for it. But he was too slow, and too close, and England's hand grabbed hold of his coat before he could escape.

"_Noooo!_"

"I've got you, you little bugger! Teach you to disobey the British Empire, you—wha-wha-_no stop your wiggling—_"

One moment, England had an armful of flailing colony, and the next? Nothing but an empty coat.

America landed on his hands and knees, panting, and tried to run. The wet grass gave him no traction at all. He slipped forward like an overgrown snail.

With a laugh, England tossed the small coat at the maid and kneeled to grab the child.

England's knee slipped.

"Oof!"

"_Eek! _England, get off, you're squishing me! _Squishing me!_"

"I'm sorry, America! Are you alright? Come here, lad, let me—_come here I said!_"

America slipped and slid across the garden. The rain was just a bit harder now, and colder, but that was ok—

"_America!_"

-because England was running with him!

Minutes into the renewed chase, England finally realized what he was doing. Running in the rain, coatless, chasing after a rebellious child, without an ounce of dignity! _Shameful!_

. . . so why didn't he care?

The mist was gentle against his face, and the sudden exercise after months of none at all was _invigorating._ America skidded around a tree ahead of him. England copied his move, hooked one arm around the trunk and swung around, and felt a delighted laugh bubble up in his chest.

Lightning stuck.

The world lit up beneath the blanketed sky. England saw America skid to a halt and blink at the clouds just before the second flash of light came. He was more than accustomed to violent storms and deafening thunder; even the worst hurricanes out on the sea barely rattled him anymore. So he was ready for the rumbling thunder.

What he didn't expect was the trembling child suddenly in his arms.

"Inside," America whimpered. He clutched at England's shirt, buried his face in his shoulder. "England, I wanna go inside, please!"

England rubbed his hand across America's back and bowed over him. The rain pelted against him, harsher and colder than before, but didn't touch his colony. "So soon, America?"

America's grip tightened. He nodded against England's shoulder, ready to plead into his big brother's soaked shirt, but didn't need to. England was already headed indoors.

* * *

_Centuries later, in the year 2012. . . ._

"Holy _crap!_"

If England hadn't been expecting the impact, he might have collapsed under America's sudden weight. Instead, he staggered backwards, umbrella falling to his side, and struggled to stay upright with America clinging to him.

"A-America, you idiot, you're going to pull me down—"

"Dude, this thunder is _insane_—"

Lighting flashed. Thunder bellowed. America choked on a curse and pressed into England's side. His hands _squeezed_—

"_Ow!_ You're going to pinch my arms off, you bloody—"

"Let's go inside," America said, unclenching one hand from around England's arm to wipe fallen rain from his brow. "Please? C'mon, England, I know you wanted stand outside and enjoy the view 'cause it reminds you of home or whatever but _oh my God what is up with that freakin' thunder?_"

England peeled America's fingers off of his bicep. "I thought you were supposed to be the home of the brave?"

"Please?"

Green eyes met blue, and Arthur was struck with a sudden urge to gather the American into his arms and carry him into the safety of the boy's home.

Not that he'd be able to lift the yank long enough to even climb the first step, but the urge was still there, and he was beginning to feel like a bloody idiot because of it.

"Fine. You'll probably catch a cold if we stay out much longer, anyway, and I'll have to take care of you and—not so bloody _fast_, America, we'll—"

With America shoving him from behind faster than was necessary and the wet grass beneath his shoes, England really stood no chance.

"_Oof!_"

"_Gak! _Oh my- America, you are _squishing_ me, get_ off_—"

With a gasped apology, America scrambled to his feet, hefted England up with one arm and skidded into his house through the front door.

Neither cared to remember the last time something quite similar happened, and neither said a word on the matter as they shared a warm blanket on the couch, sipping tea and milk and eating cookies before a crackling fire.

* * *

A/N: I will most definitely be editing this later. . . .


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